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<title>Create Your Own Sunshine by Paraprosdokia (ChangeableConsistency)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452417">Create Your Own Sunshine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeableConsistency/pseuds/Paraprosdokia'>Paraprosdokia (ChangeableConsistency)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sunshine [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ace Clint Barton, Asexual Character, Banter, Bucky might have an indifference kink, Clint certainly doesn’t, Don’t judge him, M/M, Or maybe a Clint kink, POV Bucky Barnes, Probably a little fluffy, Semi-Public Sex, handjob</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:33:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeableConsistency/pseuds/Paraprosdokia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s just a handjob, Barnes.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sunshine [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Create Your Own Sunshine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title comes from a lotion commercial, because I’m an even bigger dork than Clint.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Wanna hand job?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I— what?” Bucky’s brain goes offline, but he’s pretty sure he can be forgiven. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Clint have torn apart the indoor range and it’s pouring rain out; neither of them are willing to put up with getting soaked so they had abandoned the outdoor range. They’re taking a break from trading off Battleworld victories and sitting on the couch in the common room watching Kitchen Fight. Bucky’s been half zoning out, half watching; he had thought Barton had been too, flopped next to him in matching Stark Industries sweatpants. It’s a tie between which one of them hates laundry more and Stark seems to have an endless supply of merch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint has on a white t-shirt with a faded pink and purple target on it and more holes than Bucky’s memory. Bucky’s topless, no one’s around today except Clint, and Clint never seems to mind the mess of scars at his shoulder, or Bucky’s equally messed up mind, for that matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hand. Job. It’s— I know they had hand jobs back in ye olden times, Buck. If you don’t want one, s’fine.”</span>
</p><p>And the funny thing is, it is fine. Clint had offered it in an offhand way and Bucky looks for his tells (it’s Natasha’s fault; he’s spent so long watching her watch the team that she, maybe inadvertently, has taught him how to read all of them— except her) and Clint’s relaxed. Maybe a little bored. </p><p>
  <span>“You want to trade hand jobs? In the common room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah,” Bucky’s relief and definitely not disappointment, shut up brain, at this just being one of Clint’s weird jokes, are short lived, “Not big on reciprocation, if that’s cool? And we have the place to ourselves for at least another day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint’s on Buckysitting duty, or he’d be halfway around the world, too. The last couple of days just him and Clint have been nice, actually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t hover, doesn’t push, but Bucky’s always expecting him to, would think that Steve would be happy to turn Bucky’s mother-henning around on him, but he always gives Bucky his space while letting Bucky know he’s there for him if Bucky ever needs him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone else is cautious around him, either afraid of breaking him or of Bucky breaking them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone but Clint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Sam, but that asshole doesn’t count.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first day at the Tower Clint had thrown a controller at him and said, “Come help me kick the kid’s ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter had jumped up and made up an excuse of needing to get back to his aunt’s and Clint had just shrugged and patted the seat next to him, “Okay, come here and let me kick your ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky was never one to turn away from a thrown gauntlet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, though. This isn’t a gauntlet, it’s… he isn’t sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> it is. Bucky shrugs, still a little unsure, but already getting hard. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of his wariness must bleed through, “It’s just a handjob, Barnes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky gestures towards his prick in a silent ‘go ahead’. Clint gives him that sunshiny smile and pulls down his pants just enough to free him from the loose confines of his sweats. </span>
</p><p>He’s expecting the warmth, but not the softness, not until he realizes it’s Clint’s bow hand and not the one he draws with. His draw hand is marked with calluses, both from the bow string and his sidearm and for a second he wishes that was the hand Clint was using but then he squeezes just right and, no, soft is good. Soft is very, very good.</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Barton, what the hell kind of lotion are you using.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jergen’s,” he says with Groucho Marx eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve changed my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure about that?” Clint asks with another one of those perfect squeezes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear to God, if you stop now and I will kill you. Or maybe just cry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint chuckles and brushes passed the mention of casual murder, “Well, we can’t have you crying now, can we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that Bucky loses track of time, and yeah, maybe cries a little when Clint starts using his precum to slick him up because it’s just so fucking good but Clint doesn’t call him on it. Clint’s keeping one eye on the TV, laughing and calling out suggestions like he’s a member of a live television audience and that little bit of indifference shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky starts thinking about where they are and while no one’s gonna walk in on them it doesn’t change the fact that it </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels</span>
  </em>
  <span> like someone could and then Chef Kim is yelling at his sous, “Come on, come on, come on!” And it’s almost like he’s shouting at Bucky.</span>
</p><p>“Clint, I’m—.”</p><p>
  <span>He tries to warn Clint that he’s about to come but he loses his words, and he has a moment to be grateful for Clint’s undivided attention and his smile, fuck, that smile and he’s gone, bare heels digging into the carpet and a death grip on the cushions as he comes so hard his ass comes up off the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky collapses there, panting, until he finally comes around to the credits rolling and Clint cleaning him up with that raggedy shirt that Bucky’s never going to be able to look at the same way again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you don’t want me to…” he starts to reach for Clint but his nose crinkles up the same way it does when he hears the word ‘decaf’ and Bucky lets his hand fall back down to the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint tosses the shirt into the couch corner and yeah, much as he hates cleaning Bucky’s probably going to go over the whole thing with that fancy steam vacuum cleaner that’s in the closet that’s used for Clint related messes 90% of the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realizes he’s still hanging in the breeze and he pulls up his pants before settling back on the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Clint. Thanks, that was good.”</span>
</p><p>Good doesn’t even begin to cover it, but his brain is still soupy with endorphins so he forgives himself for not being able to come up with anything better. </p><p>
  <span>“No problem, man. You have the best expressions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky glares, the one that makes even Natasha a little nervous, thinking maybe this was just a joke to Clint after all, but Clint smiles again and says, “Yeah, even that one,” as he punches Bucky’s metal shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me know when you’ve recovered, old man; I want a rematch,” Clint says, lifting his chin towards the game system. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky smirks, “Bring it, Sunshine.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m getting back into Tumblr, you can find me at Paraprosdokia.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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